walking waking withering waiting
sliding through a sea of discontent
hating harshly holding heaven
somewhere at the bottom I get a grip
standing slipping slowly stripping
exiting the wound from the gaping hold in the mind
painful piety pulsing patiently
waiting for the next moment to arrive
keeping kicking keys killing
some sort of secret language
minding misnomers maliciously mailing
staining the night sky with melanoma